16 Showdown
by Thescarredman
Summary: Colby and Anna meet, and sparks fly. Also a few bullets.
1. Head to Head

Wednesday March 29 2006  
Los Terrentos California

Colby had been conspiring with John Lynch since before Miles Craven's death, when Lynch was still Director of Operations. He'd helped the older man execute his defection, and pull off capers against Ivana that would have gotten them both killed if things had gone wrong. He'd had no hand in the raid on the Genesis complex, but he'd risked discovery – and his life - numberless times to keep Lynch and his kids safe afterwards. In two and a half years as Lynch's accomplice, he'd never wondered if he was doing the right thing, backing the right horse. Until now.

They were meeting, once again, at a location of Lynch's choosing, and a time of Colby's. He stood in near-darkness among a cluster of empty maintenance buildings belonging to the California Highway Department. The buildings were arranged around a central open space on three sides, rather like a town square. Lights mounted above the doors on the fronts of the buildings filled it with bright blue-white light, but left the rest of the ground around the structures in deep shadow. Faint traffic sounds came to him from I-8, a mile distant, as he listened for the approach of his old boss.

Colby wasn't alone. His seven-man security detail was deployed on the rooftops and in the shadows around the buildings. He knew that his "bodyguards" had been assigned primarily to shadow him and report back, rather than provide protection. But he also knew these were Phillips' men, hand-picked, more loyal to him than to Ivana. And Colby had come to trust Phillips on slight acquaintance, as he had John Lynch twelve years before. No word of this meet would find its way to the Director.

He touched his jacket pocket to make sure the envelope was still there. Inside it were several pictures of the little blonde at the mall. He intended to show them to Lynch, and question him about her involvement with his group of runaways. He hoped to God that Lynch knew her, at least, and what she was up to, and that his kids weren't going maverick on him.

He looked at his watch. Lynch wasn't late yet, but he never was; usually he was the first to arrive. Colby wished he could have given him a heads-up about the men standing guard around the maintenance depot. He just hoped his former topkick wouldn't be alarmed when he spotted them.

He heard footsteps approach. Although he hadn't heard a car, something told him it was Lynch. A moment later, his old boss stepped into the other side of the illuminated square. Again, Colby was taken by the man's restored vitality, obvious in both step and posture. Lynch had never looked his age, even at his worst just a few weeks ago, but he'd seemed worn, fatigued, and strung out for quite a while. But the man standing in the light waiting for him looked like the one he'd faced every year at the hand-to-hand contest; certainly not like a man two years on the run who'd just had his house burn to the ground.

Colby stepped into the light. Thirty yards separated them. "Once again, Lynch, you've managed to pick a real garden spot for a meet." He didn't raise his voice, but it carried in the quiet and echoed off the walls.

"You'd rather meet at headquarters? Leave me a visitor pass at the gate?"

"I'm sure they'd let you in." He smiled briefly and started crossing the small square. He reached into his jacket for the envelope.

The chameleon stepped into the light behind Lynch.

He opened his mouth to call a warning. Before he could say a word, though, she zipped around in front of Lynch and stood shielding him, arms spread to maximize her coverage.

_Guess I won't be needing the pictures._ The look in her eyes made the hairs on his forearms prickle inside his sleeve. His shoulder holster was under his armpit, inches from the pocket containing the envelope. He withdrew his hand slowly and dropped it.

Lynch said, amused, "Stand down, Anna. He's my contact."

The little blonde's manner reminded him of an attack dog waiting for its master to drop its leash. "He's IO. I smell it on him. And he's armed."

"We're all armed. And I'm IO, too. We worked together. This is Frank Colby. He's a friend."

She dropped her arms and straightened, but kept her eyes trained on him. "He doesn't seem very friendly."

"He's probably wondering what the hell is going on. I always come alone."

"Does _he_?"

Colby found his voice. "I brought some people with me. They're safe."

"They are now."

His skin went cold. He tried to keep his voice even. "Those men are all sympathizers and potential allies. My freedom of movement depends on their cooperation. I really hope you didn't do anything drastic."

"No," she said. "Nothing drastic."

His cop instincts kicked on, and he saw the two of them from a shifted perspective. Lynch knew her, obviously, and knew her capabilities, else he wouldn't let her stand between him and a nervous man with a loaded gun. But more intriguing was the way they were standing together… closer than prudent for a bodyguard and her principal, and somehow they seemed to lean toward each other, even though they weren't… Lynch wasn't touching her, wasn't even looking at her, but Colby was suddenly sure the man was accustomed to laying hands on her. _Top, are you __sleeping__ with this little maneater?_

She was still focused tightly on him. "Do you two usually meet with guns in hand? He was reaching for his before he saw me."

"No." Colby shook his head slightly. "I have something for him. An envelope with some pictures." He made a fist, leaving his first two fingers sticking out, and slowly reached towards his jacket opening.

"Don't." She glided across the open space toward him. "Let me." Lynch started to follow, but she made a halting gesture without looking back, and he stopped, shaking his head.

During the ten seconds it took her to close within striking distance, Colby mentally reviewed the mall scenes, gauging her speed and strength, and concluded he didn't have a chance against her unarmed. He looked past her at Lynch. The man nodded at him reassuringly. "Just humor her," his former boss said with a smile quirking his lips, and Colby's unease drained away.

She stopped just a foot away. Another clue: her sense of personal space seemed very un-American. _Maybe she's European. Could Devereaux be her real name?_ He caught a trace of her perfume, just as she slid her hand into his coat. The back of her hand pressed against his chest as she reached into the pocket and grasped the envelope. He remembered what those hands had done to three men just a few days ago, but the memory wasn't as frightening as it should be. The touch was intimate and electrifying. _I/S Effect?_

She paused and looked up at him with her hand still inside his clothes. "Tell me, Mr. Colby. Do you get like this with every girl who acts ready to kill you?"

_Ah, hell. That obvious?_ He swallowed. "They all think about killing me, sooner or later."

She twitched a smile as she removed the envelope and glanced into it. "Ah. You wanted to ask him about me."

"I know all about his kids, but he never mentioned you. I thought maybe he didn't know you."

"Well. That would open a great many unpleasant possibilities, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. Can I reach in my jacket?"

"Certainly. My apologies, Mr. Colby." But she watched him carefully as his hand slid into the opening. He was quite sure that if he'd put a hand on his pistol, it would never have cleared the holster.

"Call me Frank," he said, and drew out a business card for a construction company that had gone out of business years before; he presented it to her. "If you ever need anything, and he's not around, use this. Don't bother with the number on the card. It connects to an answering machine, and I never pick up the messages. Add one to the first digit, two to the second, and so on. That's the number you'll reach me at."

"I can't imagine what use I'd have for it." She started to turn away without taking it, then stopped. "If you never answer it, why do you pay for the number?"

He said slowly, "In case IO gets their hands on one of these cards. I wouldn't want some clueless citizen getting picked up for questioning."

She turned back and plucked the card from his fingers. "I'll leave you boys alone now. I've got to go make nice to your men." She cocked her head. "Take off your glasses, Frank."

"What?"

"Your glasses. Let me see you without them." When he hesitated, she lifted an eyebrow. "What's the problem? They're not corrective lenses, after all. Just clear acrylic with an anti-glare coating."

_How do you know that, if you don't have access to my medical file?_ Slowly, he pulled them off. She looked up, studying him for a few seconds, then gave him a tiny smile. "Bet killing you's not the first thing they think of."

She turned away and walked back to Lynch, and he followed. She passed Lynch the envelope without a pause and disappeared into the shadows without a sound.

He and Lynch stepped into the shadows and shook hands. Still gripping the older man's hand, he said, "You know what you're doing, Top?"

Lynch didn't pretend ignorance. "Not entirely. But she saved my life, as surely as if she'd pulled me out of a burning building."

"Sure of her motives?"

"Is this just natural suspicion, or do you have something?"

"Just what's in those photos." He spoke briefly about the fracas at the mall, and the conclusions Ruche had drawn about the Gens and their 'housekeeper'. He added the speculations he'd entertained over the suppressed Information. When he paused, Lynch nodded. "Right or wrong, you've planted some seeds, and provided a good diversion."

"It's stirred up the hive, that's for sure, but I don't know if it was the right thing to do. I should have given more thought to Ivana's reaction. It's completely off the charts. She's ordered all our spear carriers trained up to take on Gens, even the Razors and X-Teams."

Lynch whistled softly.

"Top. Is any of it close to the mark? Where did you find her?"

Lynch shook his head slowly. "Letting you in on that little secret might put you in more danger than you can imagine. Suffice to say that I've known her for years, even before I left IO. And I trust her completely. Okay?"

With as casual a voice as he could muster, he asked, "How does she get along with the kids?"

"Bobby calls her 'Mom." They all love her. She says they're her reason for living. And if you think she's protective of _me_…" He waved the envelope. "Well, you've seen. A tigress with her cubs."

"Are there more like her? Can you tell me that much?"

Lynch shrugged. "We think so. We're not in contact, and we don't want to be. Another secret." He looked at Colby, the dead eye seeming as intent as the living one. "I see now, why you called a meet so soon after the last one. Any more cheery news?"

"Ivana's nose is twitching. She told me, flat out, she thinks we're talking. She wants your girl and her associates so bad she's willing to overlook it. Even offered me the Director's slot if I hand her over."

"And if you don't, you must be playing for the wrong team, and she'll boil you alive. There's no middle road with that woman." Lynch looked away, turning the blasted side of his face towards him. "We may need to keep out of touch for a while."

"Yes. Or we may need to get in touch quickly. I'm assuming Ivana's got an ear on my phones, but she doesn't know about this one." He handed Lynch another of his cards and explained its use. "What about the Stuttgart sightings?"

"Still on, but moved back a week. We'll all lie low till then." Lynch pursed his lips. "It may work once more, but I doubt they'll go haring off after every lead like they used to, not after this."

Colby shrugged. "Maybe they'll turn out all that extra manpower to look for the Genactive Resistance."

"Hope so. Otherwise, I'll have to buy an island in the Pacific or something."

-0-

When Gordon Phillips regained consciousness, he was looking down at the concrete floor a foot from his nose. His head and neck ached, and his shoulders were on fire, because his arms were stretched out behind him, and he seemed to be hanging from them. He moved, causing him to swing gently, and discovered that his wrists and ankles were all bound together. Something was pressing hard into his calves and cutting into the backs of his knees. He felt like a side of beef in a slaughterhouse.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he turned his head to survey his surroundings. He was inside one of the maintenance buildings, and he wasn't alone. Close by in a neat row, he saw several other troopers dangling in the same way. They were all hanging from a drive-on car lift in some sort of machine shop, with their lower legs thrown behind them over the track and their wrists tied to their ankles to form a large loop, from which they were hung. The closest prisoner, Mike Loud, looked back at him sourly. "Was starting to worry. You were the first one they took down, I think, but you were the last to wake up."

"The others?"

"We're all here. Dragged us in from all over the complex and put us in the same building. Maybe they're gonna set fire to it."

"Oh, that little bitch," said Castro, somewhere behind him. "I get out of this alive, I'm gonna hunt her down if it takes the rest of my life."

Phillips felt cold. "You saw her?"

"Yeah, for about a fucking second."

"Little blonde, looks like she ought to be selling Girl Scout cookies?"

"Dunno bout that. She looked plenty mean when she yanked the gun out of my hand and planted the stock in my gut. I think she broke my trigger finger. Never seen anybody move so fast. Fuckin little Kung Fu bitch."

Loud's mouth twisted. "Something you want to tell us, Gord?"

A door squeaked open. "Oh God oh God." A girl's voice, young and distraught. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were here to hurt them." He felt himself lifted. Loud's eyes widened as Phillips' hands came free in a rattle of chains on concrete and he was lowered to the ground. The Chameleon was crouching over him, seeming on the verge of tears. "Are you okay? I tried not to hurt anybody, but I wasn't sure. I had to make the first hit count, you know? You guys are just too big. Oh, God, Mr. Lynch is gonna kill me."

He rubbed his wrists. "Cut the others down." Loud glanced his way, and Phillips shook his head slightly, warning him. "Where are the weapons?"

"Over in the corner, behind the drums. I'm sorry. I spotted you guys all around us, and I freaked. I thought they found us again." She lifted Loud in her arms and twisted the chain wound around his wrists and ankles, and it fell free. She carefully set him on the ground and moved to Castro, a huge man with dark hair and eyes.

He glared at her upside-down as she approached. She knelt, laid her hands under his shoulders, and lifted, so that they were face-to-face, albeit forehead-to-chin, almost as if his head was in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said softly, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead and looking into his eyes. "You must want to put my lights out. When I get you down, take a poke at me, if it makes you feel better. I've got it coming."

He frowned. "Christ, you look twelve years old. Nobody's gonna hit you. Just get me down."

-0-

"It was the scariest thing I've ever seen." Phillips sat behind the wheel of one of the team's idling Suburbans; Colby rode shotgun. They were waiting for the rest of the squad to mount up in the other two vehicles and stow their gear.

"Scarier than the mall footage?"

Phillips shrugged. "I've seen men killed in hand-to-hand before. I never saw anybody do what she did when she came back for us. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. They all knew she was the one who took them out, and the one who smashed her way through the team at the mall; she should have had six guns on her the moment they got them back. Instead, they're all gathered around her like she's some kind of kid sister, patting her on the head and telling her nobody's gonna hurt her while _they're_ around. Like they'd forgot all about what she did to them. Castro _hugged_ her. _Castro_. That guy doesn't smile at his mother." He shook his head. "They all volunteered to escort you to your next meet, I think just for a chance to see her again."

"I saw. She didn't charm you, too?"

"I saw the mall footage. I watched her switch back and forth from a cheery little bimbo to a killing machine. I knew I was looking at a wolverine in a bunny suit."

A hand slapped the closed window inches from Colby's head, startling him. Behind the palm pressed to the other side of the glass, he saw the face of the chameleon, Anna. She made a twirling motion with her hand, asking him to roll down the window. Pressing the 'up' button to keep Phillips from lowering it from the driver's side, he said, "It's broken."

She came around the front of the vehicle, headed for the other side. Quietly, he said to Phillips, "Roll it down."

She waited impassively as the driver's window dropped. "Hello again, Frank. Jack told me some of what you've done for us. I'm sorry I misjudged you."

"No problem."

Then, she addressed Phillips. "I wanted to talk to you before you left. Your men call you Gord, but I wouldn't presume. Do you have a rank or a title, something like that?" The girlish voice and manner were gone; she was all business again.

"Phillips is fine," the man said warily.

"Mr. Phillips," she said, "I like your men. They're tough, but they're big-hearted and sentimental in their own way. And sure of themselves, else they couldn't have forgiven me so easily. That speaks well of you, too, as their leader." She locked eyes with the team leader. "But you still act like you can't turn your back on me, and I don't think it's from wounded pride. If we're going to work together, maybe we should understand each other better."

Phillips glanced at him; he shrugged. The man turned back to her. "I know how good an actress you are. They don't. I'm the only one who's seen the mall video."

She nodded. "Ah. So, you're not sure which is the real me?"

"I'm not sure I've _seen_ the real you." He added, "I found the kid in the bathroom."

Her face turned stony. "I'm sorry about that. But I had an urgent need for information, and no time to be gentle. I thought you were all there for us."

"He said you were almost beside yourself with rage. That you could barely restrain yourself from killing him."

"Like I said, I thought he was there for my kids." She gave him a hawk's stare. "Did mall surveillance catch us in the hallway?"

"When you shot those men?"

"Just after, when we ran to the garage doors. The little girl with the purple hair. You saw us at the end of the corridor?"

"When she stopped to catch her breath, and you had your little tête-à-tête? Yeah."

"They didn't record audio." It wasn't a question.

"No. Why?"

"Because if they had, I think you'd be looking at me differently right now." Her face hardened further. "Roxanne is sixteen years old. Like all Gens, she's in excellent physical shape. She's quite athletic, too. She smokes, but not enough to impair lung function. When she doubled over to catch her breath, she wasn't winded from a piddling hundred-yard trot down the hallway. She was having a panic attack." Her face softened, and she looked away. "You can't imagine what it's like, listening to her cry out in the night as she dreams of being back in _their_ hands, even after two years. When we put our foreheads together at the end of the hall, she was asking me to make sure they didn't take her. Any way I had to." They watched her eyes mist. "God's sake. At her age, her heaviest decision should be picking out a prom dress. But she was almost paralyzed with fear, and I couldn't tell her 'no'." She turned back to them. "But that's a promise I'm never going to have to keep, because I'll blow up IO headquarters with everyone in it to keep her safe. I'll do _anything_." Her face settled back into its calm mask. "Well. That's what I'm about." She turned away.

"Hey."

She turned back to look at Phillips.

"I won't say I'm ready to blow up headquarters," he said slowly. "But I joined IO to help people. I know your boss by reputation, and Frank is his friend, and I trust them both. If I can help you or your kids without getting somebody else hurt, I will. That's what _I'm_ about."

She nodded.

The headlights of the other two Suburbans came on, signaling that the rest of the team was boarded and ready to leave. She turned towards them and waved, smiling. Phillips put the car in gear and followed them out of the maintenance park.

Colby said, "She got to you."

"I know. She's still a wolverine in a bunny suit. It just seems now that wolverines are every bit as cute as bunnies." Phillips glanced pointedly at Colby's armrest. "There's nothing wrong with the window."

"No. I just didn't want to wipe her prints off the glass."

-0-

Lynch watched the vehicles exit the compound. Then, while he waited for Anna to complete her final perimeter walk, he pulled out the packet of photos. He studied the shot of her in the act of killing a man with her fist, and another that showed her firing on a human target, intent as a sniper. Then he looked at the photos of her with the girls, happy as a lark to be involved and included. He wondered, not for the first time, what had prompted her to come with him that day in the warehouse, and what had bound her to him ever since. Then again, he supposed, every man in love probably asked such questions.

Then he slipped the bottom eight-by-eleven out of the pile and did a double take, because at first he took it for another woman he knew. Her eyes and hair had been darkened with pencil. He stared at it for only a few seconds before he said softly, "Miles. Miles, you twisted son of a bitch," and put them all back in the envelope.

A minute later, Anna returned. "All clear. No witnesses, nothing left behind." She gave him a curious glance. "Something wrong?"

"Not a thing." He offered her a hand, palm-up. "Care to take a walk in the moonlight?"

"With you?" She smiled and took his hand, and they started walking towards the car. After a few steps, she said, "Jack, what's the story on Colby?"

He took a moment to answer, while noting that her footfalls made no sound on the gravel. "My protégé at the Shop, you could say. We met just after that business in Iraq. We did a couple of missions together, and went into field and desk work at about the same time. We spent time together and became friends, and I helped him along in his career at IO. Not that he didn't have a bright future there without my help."

"No. I mean… does he have a wife? Or a girlfriend?"

He swung their clasped hands. "Thinking of trading up, doll?"

"As if. But… when I slipped my hand in his jacket, his adrenaline and pheromones shot up at the same time. That's very unusual."

"Humph." They were nearly at the car, the black Charger nearly invisible in the deep shadow under a cluster of trees. He went to the passenger door and stopped without opening it. "Frank's a good guy. If he ever found the right girl, I'm sure he'd make her happy. But he's drawn into poisonous relationships somehow. His girlfriends are all psychos. He told me he once made a date with a girl in the squadroom who was being booked for clubbing her ex with a whiskey bottle. He could barely read the phone number she wrote down, because she had to use her left hand, the right being handcuffed to a chair arm." He shook his head. "Drug addicts, career criminals, manic depressives, paranoids, you name it. And the affairs never end well, I can tell you. He's got scars, real ones."

"Doesn't speak well for his attraction to me."

He looked at her face, alight with mischief, and his mind's eye overlaid another face on it. "Well, even if you weren't a live grenade, what attraction could be more hopeless for him than to a girl sworn to destroy IO? And spoken for, besides?"

"Is that why he wears those fake glasses? To put girls off? I bet it doesn't work."

"No, he just likes his vision clear in case he has to draw his piece and start shooting. How did you know they weren't corrective lenses?"

"It's easy, if you've got my eyesight and you know what you're looking at." She smiled. "Your count is jacked up too. No pun intended." She let go of his hand and slid her fingers into the waist of his pants. "Does knowing another man wants me get you hot?"

"You know, most married men complain that their wives are obtuse about such things. It's a little unnerving having a girlfriend who knows when I'm in the mood before I do."

She pushed him gently against the car and pulled his shirt out of his pants. "And does it make it better or worse, knowing I'm always ready to do something about it?" She reached for his belt buckle. "When was the last time you did it in the back seat of a car, old man?"

13


	2. Curiouser and Curiouser

Thursday March 30 2006  
La Jolla

The front door chime went off again, signaling another visitor to Estrellita's. Elise saw her customer's unease as the woman glanced over Elise's shoulder towards the door. She pushed down a feeling of weary despair and turned, half knowing what she'd see.

A man stood a few steps inside the doorway, dressed in the sort of suit that seemed to be government issue for intimidating-looking cops. He was better-looking than the usual Gestapo types who'd been dropping in on her since Friday night: fortyish, tall, blond, built. But the blue eyes swept the store and didn't miss a thing, despite the glasses: cop eyes. Hunter eyes.

"Excuse me a sec," Elise said to the woman, and went to meet him. "Can I help you?"

The man reached into his jacket pocket and produced a picture of Annie. "Can we talk someplace private?"

She sighed inwardly. "If things go like they usually do when one of you guys shows up, we're going to be private in about thirty seconds." As her customer passed them hurriedly on her way to the door, Elise said mechanically, "Have a nice day, come back anytime." She looked up at him, and resigned herself to lying again.

She said, "I don't know what else I can tell you. I met her just ten days ago, and she's only been in my shop twice. I don't know where she lives or where she goes." She waited for him to start the song and dance: the show of skepticism, the personal questions to which he clearly knew the answers already, the vague threats to her freedom and her livelihood, the baseless insinuations intended to bring protests hot or fearful. A demand that she contact him if she heard from Annie again. And finally, an injunction not to talk about it, because the public story was clearly very different from the truth. _What could she possibly have done to rate this kind of attention, and so elaborate a cover-up? Steal nuclear secrets? And how could she have done what she did to get away?_

He said, "What did she buy?"

She took a mental step back. "What?"

"She bought enough stuff to fill nine big bags. She must have spent a couple thousand in here, at least. What did she buy?"

Nonplused, she said, "Well, everything."

"A complete wardrobe?" When she nodded, he went on, "Do customers do that often?"

"Not really, but it's not unheard of."

He smiled. "She certainly looked better coming out than going in." He looked at her dress in a way that made her nervous in a different way. "How much advice did you give her?"

"Oh, maybe a little."

He drifted to one of the racks, examining the tank tops displayed on it. "More than a little, I think. She usually dresses like a janitor. I doubt she could have picked out nine bagfuls of drop-dead clothes in two hours without expert advice." Still looking at the rack, he asked, "Do you like her?"

Not knowing why, she said, "I'm not sure there's a safe answer for that question."

"It's not a very safe question to ask, either, some places." He lifted a hanger off the rack. It held a tank top the color of old denim, with a touch of cream-colored embroidery at sleeves and neck. "You think this would look good on her?"

Her breath stopped. Annie had bought one just like it, but it wasn't what she'd left in. "I suppose."

"Maybe with a pair of light beige slacks?"

Another item she'd picked out for the little Tinkerbelle. _He's seen her in them. Seen her since the riot at the mall._ "I'm sure she'd look fine." A new thrill of fear stole through her. _Is this the one she saw waiting for her?_

"Did she say why she needed a new wardrobe?"

Watching him carefully, she said, "I think she had a new boyfriend." _Is this where you fly into a jealous rage and strike out at anything handy?_

He smiled faintly. "You think or you know?"

She cleared her throat. "Aren't these kind of strange questions?"

"Well, the ones everybody's asking don't lead anywhere. Are you okay?"

She felt taken back. "What?"

"Are you okay? You're rubbing your stomach like it hurts."

"Oh." She dropped her hand. "Nervous habit." She noted he hadn't given her his name or showed her any ID.

"Tell me about the boyfriend."

Feeling cold, she said, "Never met him."

The man said patiently, "What did _she_ say about him?"

"I, uh…"

"Come on," he said, still patient. "She was in here trying on clothes and chatting with you for two hours. She talked about him."

Looking for a safe statement, she said, "Well, she's crazy about him."

His attention focused on her tightly. "Did she say that?"

"She didn't have to." _In for a penny._ "He's older, late fifties. Very fit, former Ranger or something. Rich." When he nodded, she asked, "Do you know him?"

"We've met. Miss…"

"Brickner. Elise Brickner."

"Frank Colby."

"Who do you work for, Mr. Colby?"

"An agency of the Department of Homeland Security. You wouldn't recognize the name."

She took a risk. "She's not an actress in a botched movie scene."

"She's an actress, and a very good one," he said, "but she plays on a rather wider stage. Miss Brickner, I need to be sure you're not lying to me. So if I ask you a question you can't answer honestly, say so, and I won't press. In return, I'll answer your questions the same way. Deal?"

She thought a moment, and nodded. "Are you an ex-boyfriend or something?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No. What gave you that idea?"

"She spotted somebody on the way out the door, and came back in a hurry. She was scared. I got the impression she was ducking an ex. That's why I showed her the back door."

"That's what she told you?"

"No. Actually, she said it was a guy she used to work with." She added, "She said his intentions weren't honorable."

His eyebrows rose, but he only said, "So she was surprised to see him. Why didn't she take her bags the first time?"

"She was going for reinforcements, girlfriends I think. She was supposed to be back in half an hour."

"Then the tall redhead came in for them."

"She took them with her, but she came looking for Annie. She got worried when I told her what happened." She asked, "If it wasn't special effects, how did they do all that stuff?"

"We don't really know. That's part of the investigation. Our best theories don't hold water."

They spoke for nearly an hour, exchanging information. She was amazed at what she was giving up on her little friend to this man, after being so tight-lipped and unhelpful with all his predecessors. But Frank Colby's interest seemed different: not necessarily benign, but purer of motive, she thought. And he told her things about Annie with a straight face that she wouldn't have believed from any of the others.

He glanced toward the cosmetics counter. "She was made up rather elaborately when she came out."

"She bought makeup and perfume, too."

He stepped towards the counter. "What kind? Perfume, I mean."

She picked up a sample bottle of one of the perfumes Annie had bought, the floral one. She spritzed her wrist and offered it.

He sniffed from a foot away and frowned. "That all?"

"No." She applied the musk scent to her other wrist. When he sampled that one, his eyelids drooped, and he nodded almost involuntarily. _This is the one he remembers._

"What's it called?"

"Jolie. It's new, but very good."

"Yes." He smiled.

_He's not a boyfriend,_ she realized, _but he wouldn't mind. _"Mr. Colby. Is she in any danger from him?"

His face clouded. "Who?"

"Jack. Her boyfriend. Would he, you know…"

He shook his head. "I can't imagine him harming a woman who wasn't attacking him. And maybe not then, if he could avoid it. Considering what she did on the way out, I'd be more worried about him."

"She didn't really _kill_ a man. Did she?"

He gave her a level look. "It was self-defense, and probably an accident. But yes. There's a lot more to her than meets the eye."

Not knowing why, she said in a small voice, "She said she never got clothes or makeup when she was younger. I joked about her being raised by nuns. She said she was raised by wolves. Just a joke, but something in her voice told me it was a miserable childhood. I kind of felt sorry for her."

"She has a way of winning a person's sympathy." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a card. "If you think of something that seems important, or if you need some help, call me at this number. _Don't_ give it to her if she comes back in; it's not safe for her to use. And don't use it to tell me she came back in to see you. But _do _tell her I was here."

She stared at the card, which held only his name and a phone number with an unfamiliar area code. "You're a strange cop, Mr. Colby."

He offered his hand. "No, I'm a good cop in a strange police force. Good luck, Miss Brickner."

Friday March 31 2006  
Boulder  
Central Headquarters

Cher was working in the makeshift office inside Colby's when the man came bustling in. He threw off his jacket and loosened his tie. "What news?"

"I've almost worked my way back to the scene we first looked at. These girls have some _very_ strange conversations for a group of mall bimbos. And there's a lot of tension among them, even though they're close. Sarah doesn't like Anna very much, and the other two feel protective. Are Rox and Kat sisters?"

"Half sisters. Neither knew the other existed until two years ago."

"Also, they live within five miles of six shopping malls, including this one."

"We already know where they lived. It would have been good information to have ten days ago."

"Also, Sarah's very resentful over Anna's new boyfriend Jack. She's made some very cutting remarks to Anna and the other girls about it." The image on the laptop showed Sarah and Roxanne hurrying down a corridor, the taller girl walking so fast that the little pixie was almost skipping to keep up. Their faces were stiff with anger. Since they were approaching the camera, it caught their faces clearly. "Take this bit. Rox just accused Sarah of being jealous. Sarah says, '_I couldn't care less… letting him use her for sex. If, _something_, was capable, I'd have expected it long before now. It's the way she pretends to be in love with him that burns me,_ something.' Roxy replies, '_How do you know she's not? I think it's sweet._' Then Sarah says, '_It's obscene. Roxanne, love is a union of souls. Anna doesn't have one._'"

"Youch."

"Yeah. Then they pass out of frame. There's plenty like that. Anna's a live-in servant, I think, and I guess Sarah doesn't think it's proper. Must think Anna's scheming to get her boss's money or something."

"Sarah's gay. Does that change anything?"

Cher stared at the screen, watching Anna and the gorgeous redhead bring up the rear, almost close enough to put their arms around each other; the redhead was speaking words of comfort and support. "Maybe the emotional basis for the hostility, that's all."

"Cher, I think it's likely your assessments of these girls are going to shift when you watch them make a run for it."

"I heard. They did some _damage_."

They watched the scenes of the initial flight together. Cher felt distracted at first by Frank leaning over her, so close she could smell his aftershave. But then she saw little Anna go into action, and her attention was riveted. "My God."

The girls ran down the deserted hall, getting smaller with distance. Roxanne bent over, as if winded, and turned so that her face was in profile. Most of her body was hidden by Kat's hip. Looking at the floor, she spoke. "Something… _kill me_ something… _if I live_ something." The little brunette's head jerked up to look intently at Anna as the little blonde put a hand to her neck and touched foreheads. "Anna says, 'something… _Love you, sweetie. Take a breath._'"

They watched the little blonde face away from the camera, looking towards the doors. Then she turned, spoke briefly, and passed into the garage. "_I'll be back._"

Only Roxanne was facing the camera as she spoke to Kat and Sarah. "_I think I'm more worried about her than I am_… something. _What's happening to her? _Now one of the others is speaking, Sarah I think."

Roxy's mouth twisted. "Something… _that's deep, Sarah. _Something something, I think _semester_. Now she's listening to Kat. "_Are we talking about the same,_ I think it's _Anna?_ _She acts like she's having fun. Unless they've got a tank in the parking garage, I don't see how they could stop her_."

"So Anna's talents are taking them by surprise."

"I'd say." Caitlin turned to look back down the hallway. "_I don't think we can stay here much longer. How long has she been gone?_" Then Anna returned and crooked a finger, beckoning them through the sliding doors, and they entered.

"That's it," Frank said. "There's some more video in the presentation, but no close-ups."

"I'll go through it anyway. I might get something from body language." The last through the sliding doors was Caitlin, who cast a last look back before she disappeared into the garage. Cheryl said, "I told Ferris I was working this case. She has a serious attitude about Kat, but she won't say why."

"They're connected?"

"I think she was assigned to this bunch when they first went at-large."

Colby remembered that, one time, in the first six months she was a fugitive, Kat had been located and nearly captured, and that an agent had been killed in her escape. He nodded to himself. "Chasing these people is a frustrating job."

*

The technician slid the enlarged copy of the chameleon's fingerprints into the scanner. "You sure you don't want to come back for the results, Director? Might take a while."

"No, thanks. I'll wait. And it's Assistant Director." Colby was fairly certain that, if he wasn't there when the results came in, he'd never see them. "How long is 'a while'?"

The man pressed the enter key on his board. "Longest search I ever ran took an hour, and that was just two partials, matched up to a set of thirty-year-old prints."

The machine beeped, and the tech raised his eyebrows. "And _this_ was about the quickest. Except…"

Instead of a file on the match, the screen showed the fat _phi_ that was IO's corporate logo and a login window: a security firewall. Colby reached over the man's shoulder and typed in his security code for the day, and the file and image of the match appeared.

Ivana Baiul stared haughtily at him from the screen.

The tech turned to face him. "Uh-"

He screwed his face up, scowling. "Dammit. Another worthless set of prints. Thought we'd kept the scene uncontaminated. She'll blow a fuse when she finds out." He closed the screen and patted the man's shoulder. "Nothing you did. Thanks for trying." He took the copy and left quickly, before his mask of calm could slip.

On the way back to his office, he remembered the altered photograph. _Guess my subconscious was trying to tell me something. Why didn't I pick up on it?_

_Because I doodled on the wrong photograph. I've never seen Ivana smile like that, like she's feeling warm and happy and at peace with the world; it completely changes her face. I should have marked up the pic where she was shooting someone._

Saturday April 1 2006  
Escondido

"Happy birthday, shikasin." Anna pressed a phonebook-sized box into Sarah's hands at the breakfast counter.

"Omigod." Roxy, sitting next to her with a bowl of fruit, stared at the package. "I completely forgot."

Sarah's finger slipped under the package's ribbon. "It's been a busy week. Starting a new school, exploring the neighborhood, running for our lives, whatever. And, oh, you weren't speaking to me a week ago, remember."

"Your fault, Pocahontas."

"No argument." She traded smiles with Anna, standing almost eye-to-eye as she sat on the barstool. The ribbon came off and she lifted the lid. She blinked. "Oh. Thank you… it's beautiful."

Anna smiled wryly. "But you'll never wear it."

"I…"

Inside the box lay a heavy bib necklace of sterling silver and turquoise. The craftsmanship was superb, and the stones were polished smooth and as perfectly matched as any she'd seen; it must have cost a fortune. But she would no more pick out such an accessory than she would a fringed buckskin jacket, or weave feathers into her hair.

Anna lifted Sarah's hand from the box, squeezed it, and put the cover back on. "No worries, Sarah. I thought you might want to mount it on your wall, or put it in your display case." Another box, smaller, appeared on the table. "_This_ is the one I'd like to see around your neck."

The second box contained a small cross on a delicate silver chain. The pendant was polished to a mirror finish. Anna removed it. "Put it on for you?"

Sarah smiled and gathered her hair and lifted it. Anna fastened it from behind, then circled around to look at it. Smiling, the little blonde centered the pendant at her throat.

Anna's smile vanished as she stared at the necklace.

"Paleface? Anna? What's wrong?"

"I left a fingerprint on your pendant," she said faintly.

Roxy frowned. "I don't get it. Are you surprised you've got prints?"

"I know my fingertips have a fingerprint pattern. But I don't exude oil. I shouldn't-" Her face screwed up. "How could I be so _stupid_?"

"What's going on?" Caitlin entered the kitchen, eyebrows knitted together at Anna's show of agitation.

"Don't know. Anna's going spastic cuz she noticed she leaves fingerprints."

Kat's eyes widened, and she grabbed Anna's wrist. "Come on. We've got to tell Mr. Lynch." She towed Anna down the hall, leaving two puzzled girls at the counter.

*

"All right," Jack said to her a few minutes later. "You washed up after you were done, and you didn't touch any hard surfaces during the interrogation."

She was still chagrined at having overlooked something so obvious. "Jack, I just found out the hard way that a tiny trace of someone else's skin oil on my fingers is enough to leave a print. I touched his face before I left, and he'd been sweating like a pig. I must have left prints on the bathroom door handle, probably both sides."

"Still, not necessarily a problem. I assume you don't know whose prints you're wearing."

"No."

"They might not be anybody's," Kat suggested. "They could be computer-generated."

"Or they could belong to someone without a fingerprint record, or a dead man, or someone who's obviously not her, in which case they'll assume she was wearing appliqués." He steepled his fingers. "Unless those prints make a suspect of someone, I don't see that leaving them makes any difference. Except that IO may have a record of your prints now."

_Except that IO may already have had a record of them – in their personnel files. If I'm wearing the prints of a technician or researcher who had a hand in my construction, it may provide a lead to my past, and some information about the other cybers. But how to find out?_

Sunday April 2 2006  
Boulder

Colby waited tensely at the bar of Twilight, a trendy five-star supper club situated halfway up a downtown skyscraper. His imagination spun with possibilities. Anne Devereaux's call so soon after their meeting had taken him completely by surprise; her request for a meeting alone with him and her refusal to divulge the reason fueled both his forebodings and his fantasies. When he'd given her the card, he'd still half suspected she was pursuing an agenda separate from Lynch's; he'd thought a separate line of communication would give him a chance to ferret it out. But the calculating look she'd given him in the maintenance yard had given him pause, and his new knowledge of her had only heightened his uncertainty about her motivations. He couldn't decide whether the meet was more likely a hit or a tryst. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been in the company of a woman who couldn't seem to decide whether she wanted him dead or in bed. Of course, he told himself, she might just be a co-conspirator with a desire to talk shop. Far from home. Without her boyfriend.

"Thanks for seeing me," she said behind him.

He turned on the stool and pursed his lips in a silent whistle. She wore a simple cream-colored sheath that wrapped her snugly from six inches above the knee to her armpits. A strand of pearls circled her neck, and she gripped a small purse in her hand. Her tiny feet were shod in four-inch heels. Her short hair was shining and perfectly coiffed, the skin of her bare shoulders and arms gleamed, and her makeup was just shy of advertising. "You look spectacular."

"Down, boy," she said with a tiny Mona Lisa smile that was chillingly familiar. "The dress and makeup are just to blend in. I didn't put on perfume for you, or shave my legs. This _isn't _a date."

"You look spectacular just the same. I'm not sure you're really blending in."

"Where are the boys? I only saw Mr. Phillips on the way in."

"They're about. I'm not allowed to move without security. That's another constraint on our meetings. I have to schedule them when his people are the ones watching me." He gestured to the seat beside him. "Take a load off? Our table's not ready."

She sat and crossed her legs. Her knees were smooth, and her skin looked baby-soft. "This doesn't look like a place that takes same-day reservations."

"It's not. I bribed a staffer for tonight's guest list, then called around until I found someone who'd be willing to part with his reservation for a little cash."

She smiled and batted her eyelashes. "Well. If this _were_ a date, I'd be impressed."

"I just got sick and tired of meeting you people in the middle of a glacier, or at the bottoms of mine shafts. I swore the next time we had one of these, it was going to be someplace with food and music. Want a drink?"

"Just water. And I think I should tell you I'm a very light eater."

"What you put in your mouth is your business. Just so long as you're not stubborn about me paying." He smiled. "Right now, you don't look like a woman who pays for anything."

A hostess approached. "Mr. Takamura? Your table is ready." She turned to lead them.

He slid off his seat and offered Anna his arm. On the way to the table, she said, "You were adopted, I take it."

"Tragic story. I don't like to talk about it." He pulled out her chair, but she ignored it, stepping past to the other side of the small table. He and the hostess exchanged a look as she settled into the chair opposite.

She gave him an open curious look as he stood opposite, still gripping the back of the chair. "Something wrong with your seat?"

_Not a snub or a reminder that this isn't a date. She's never had a man hold a chair for her. _"No." He sat, and waited while a staff member poured water for both of them from a sweating glass pitcher; when she and the hostess left, he continued. "And, by the way, my nose isn't dead. You're wearing perfume."

"One of my girls hugged me goodbye. Maybe that's what you smell."

"If so, you two wear the same scent. Jolie, isn't it?"

She shrugged, giving him the barest hint of a smile. "Okay, so I like perfume. I still didn't shave my legs. I'm with Jack, and that's not going to change."

"Good. He needs you more than I do. And I'm sure he'll have better luck handling you. And, also by the way, you never shave your legs. You don't have to."

She stilled. "You talked to Elise."

"Yes." He watched her carefully, trying to determine if the shopgirl was going to need protection.

"Is she okay?"

Her look of concern seemed genuine enough, he thought. More importantly, he couldn't think of a good reason why she'd try to deceive him about it. "She's fine. But her business is struggling. Mall attendance is down since your escape, and the parade of investigators in and out of her shop is scaring away all her customers."

She nodded and took a sip of her water. "Not much reward for what she did for me."

"Aren't you going to ask what I told her?"

"No. I assume you didn't tell her anything that would be harmful to her. Or us." She took another tiny sip. "Or IO."

_She understands my divided loyalties. She's telling me she knows there are limits to my cooperation._ "I'd rather have come at least halfway to meet you, but I just got back. Another trip would have drawn attention." He watched her carefully. "I suppose coming here feels like sticking your head in the lion's mouth. Have you ever been to Boulder?"

Her eyelids drooped. "I'm a very difficult person to lie to, Frank. And I have a talent for spotting when there's something behind a person's words. What do you really want to know?"

He leaned close. "A thousand things. For starters, why you have Ivana Baiul's face and fingerprints. What connection you have to IO, and how you severed it. Why there are no records of you. What plans you have for Lynch and the kids and IO." He sat back. "And why you called this meet. Those will do for now."

She stared at him, her face as blank as a mannequin's. Then she took a breath. "Quid pro quo?"

"If you're careful about your subjects."

She nodded. "Why don't you call him Jack?"

Taken back by the unexpected question, he said, "He's like a second father. It wouldn't feel right. I call him Top sometimes, because he was my team leader on a couple of missions. That's as far as I can go." He put both hands on the table. "Your turn. What are you, Anna?"

"An IO project, obviously, another aspect of the Surgical Personal Targeting strategy. Most of it is a mystery to me. My memories begin ten years ago in an IO lab. I was never deployed; I spent most of my time in IO custody locked up, in fact. Why the project was abandoned, and what happened to the records, is something I'd hoped you could tell me." She studied the tabletop. "Do I really look _just_ like her?"

"You could be her younger sister, easily. Or her, at twenty-five. But it doesn't jump out at you. It's more than just the hair color that throws it off; it's your manner." He grinned. "The only time you really look like her is when you're contemplating violence."

She snorted. "Maybe that's why Jack's never mentioned it. That's not the sort of 'violence' I contemplate when I'm with him." She touched three fingers to her lips. "TMI, sorry."

"He says you saved his life. That having you saved his life."

"Does he?" Her lashes glistened. "I was very different before I met him. He saved my life too."

Very gently, he said, "What are your plans?"

She cast her eyes around the room. "Shouldn't our menus be here by now?"

"I told them there'd be no hurry, that we wanted privacy more than fast service. Frankly, I wasn't sure you'd be willing to share a meal with me."

She gave him a small smile. "A shared meal isn't a promise of safety in this culture, Frank. Did you really think I might be Muslim?"

He shrugged.

"Okay." She took a breath. "My plans? To spend my life with Jack and raise his kids. As far as dealing with IO, I'd be satisfied with evading them forever. But if your bosses make that impossible…" She locked eyes. "I know there are a great many good people in IO doing important things. But I meant what I said before. I'll destroy the whole organization, leave not one stone standing on another, before I'll let them enslave my family again."

"How?"

She leaned back, still watching him.

"Still not sure what side I'm on?"

"Why should I be? You're not."

He decided on a change of subject. "What about the others?"

She blinked. "Others?"

"The others like you."

Her eyelids lowered. "What do you know about them?"

"Only that they exist. And IO's afraid of them. I've been building them up in my bosses' minds as a threat to take the heat off you. But i'm not sure it was the right move anymore. What do _you_ know about them?"

She shrugged. "They were deployed, did some ops for IO fifteen to twenty years ago. Then they got tired of taking orders, I guess. We're not in contact, but I have reason to think they're looking for me."

"Are they making plans against IO?"

"I really wouldn't know." The sound of music turned her head. The dinner music was starting up. "Pretty."

"There's a dance floor. Not big, but big enough. Would you…"

"I don't dance."

"I got a different impression. So did Elise."

"You're both mistaken."

He stood. "It's a slow number. Most of the people out there don't know how to dance." He extended a hand.

She rose and took it. The uncertain look in her eyes made him feel protective and in control. "For the record, I don't think this is a good idea."

Two minutes later, he said, "Don't dance, huh?" She'd been stiff and clumsy for about twenty seconds; after that, she was light as a feather in his arms, letting him lead but anticipating every move.

She smiled up at him. "I'm a fast learner."

Then the smile faded away. The song ended, and she turned back towards the table and walked off, leaving him to follow.

"Something wrong?"

"No. I'm just getting an education of sorts. Sometimes learning is uncomfortable."

When they were seated, a server approached, hovering a few feet away. Colby nodded to her, and she set down the menus, refilled their water glasses, and offered to take drink orders, which he and Anna declined. Over her menu, she said, "What went wrong with your girlfriends?"

He kept his eyes on the menu as well. "Things just start falling apart, and the harder I try to fix things, the faster it all accelerates out of control." He shrugged. "I'm kidding myself from the very beginning, probably. Everyone seems to think so." He folded it and looked across the table. "Know what you want?"

"I'll settle for the soup. The clear one. What do you see in them?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I'll meet a girl who seems like nothing but trouble, and I'll think, 'all she needs is another chance.'" He felt his mouth twisting up at the corners, a smile of sorts. "The last one I felt that way about doused me in lighter fluid while I was sleeping. If her first match hadn't gone out as she tossed it onto my chest, I'd be dead now. She was pissed at me for taking back the car I bought her."

"Oh?" She sipped her water, licking beads of moisture off the rim.

"She said she needed a car for work. She didn't tell me she was a mule for a local dealer."

"Oh." She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. He looked down at it. The last woman to offer him such a gesture had been Ivana, just before she'd threatened his life. But when he looked up, the little blonde's eyes were kind. "If I was your girl, I'd never treat you like that. I'd leave you first."

"I'll take that in the spirit it's offered."

She smiled, showing dimples that made her look even younger.

He plunged in. "I've been trying to take the heat off all of you by creating this red herring about a sort of Genactive Resistance. I have my bosses half convinced that there's a force of Twelve-fives planning attacks against IO."

"Twelve-fives?"

"Gens like you."

"Oh."

"Hopefully they'll divert resources to this wild goose chase and give you some breathing room. But if there really _is_ a group like that, siccing IO onto them could push them into action – us and them, with all the gens caught up in the crossfire. We can't let that happen. Open warfare would be awfully one-sided, even with your abilities." He waited, hardly daring to breathe.

She nodded thoughtfully, and opened her mouth as if to speak. Then her eyes widened and she jumped up, knocking her chair over. A mask of hatred dropped over her features. "You _prick_." Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. "Sorry. Thought you knew. IO is all around the building. They're on their way up." She extended a hand. "They got here too quick, Frank. Someone you trust betrayed us."

He didn't rise. "Get out of here."

She surveyed the room. Guests deliberately looked away, embarrassed by an apparent public spat. "What about you?"

"You'll never get away dragging me along. Besides, I can talk my way out of this. Ivana's been telling me to use my contacts, after all." He put on a confident smile. "Get the hell out of here. Call me in a couple days."

Three minutes later, the Keeper squad leader, dressed in a suit that neatly concealed his body armor, walked up to the Assistant Director's table. "Where is she?"

"Gone. She knew you were coming before you got on the fricking elevator." Colby gritted his teeth. "You morons. I _had_ her. Ten minutes more is all I needed."


	3. The Hot Date

Like half the escapes from restaurants she'd ever seen on TV, Anna's led through the kitchen. She followed exit signs down a short hallway, looking for a stairwell. But as she approached a blank steel door at its end, her enhanced hearing caught the steps and movements of several men approaching from the other side. The muffled clattering and heavy tread suggested an entry team of three to four men, doubtless just come up the stairs to cut off escape in that direction. She stepped back four meters and waited, listening, trying to get a fix on the group's number and relative positions. _Three, not four. Single file, two meters separation. Too close, fellas._ When she judged that the closest of them was about to reach for the knob, she ran towards it.

She hit the door feet-first six feet off the ground, smashing the steel panel down on the nearest man. She somersaulted over the collapsing door and put two feet into the second man's midsection as she came down. A quick spin and an elbow to the body took care of the third, and she ran down the hall to its end. The window there wasn't made to open, but it yielded to her fist, the shards tinkling to the concrete eleven stories below. Before they landed, she was moving through the window.

She briefly considered dropping to the ground, but she wasn't sure she could take the fall undamaged. Climbing down wasn't much of an option either; radio traffic indicated there were IO agents surrounding the premises, and they'd be all over her by the time she reached the pavement. Above her, she heard the whine and flutter of a helicopter, apparently circling the building. She took off her shoes and stuck the heels into the back of her dress, along with her paperback-sized purse. Then she reached around the window and placed her fingertips against the building's concrete face. Half a second of sawing back and forth with her nails raised a puff of dust and gave her a secure hold. She swung out, suspended against the vertical face by one hand, and reached up with the other to create another handhold. Once again, and her first handhold became her first toehold. She scaled the building as if she were climbing an invisible ladder. Half a minute later, she had ascended six stories and was standing on the roof.

She surveyed the rooftop and the big helicopter buzzing around it. _Black, of course. Why isn't it ever as easy as it is in the movies?_ The chopper was circling too high and too far from the building to board with a jump; even with a running jump and her enhanced strength, the pilot would have ample time to react, and could carry it beyond her reach in mid-jump with a twitch of his stick. Its side doors were open, and a man stood securely webbed into the doorway. He carried a rifle with a scope, and was sighting on her.

She moved. Unlike in the movies, no wild shots struck the roof behind her. The helicopter moved with her, trying to give the gunner a bead on her. She caught a transmission from the chopper: "_Air One to Control. Suspect is on the roof and moving, but there's nowhere to go._"

She tended to agree with that assessment. The roof was flat except for a huge air-conditioner at one end, and, nearby, the little square structure enclosing the stair head. The surrounding buildings were taller, and too distant to reach anyway. As long as the helicopter stayed out of reach, she was trapped.

And she was running out of time as well. She could hear a pair of heavy boots stomping up the stairs. In the movies, there was always a pipe or something to stick in the door handle to prevent pursuers from pulling it open; this roof was clear of such junk, and the door opened outward anyway. She moved to intercept. Just before the man reached the door, he spoke. "It's me, sugar. Jump me at the door. Make it look good." Castro, the big Hispanic from Phillips' team.

The door banged open, and Castro rushed through, rifle leading. She grabbed the barrel, pulled him off balance, and planted the stock in his belly, considerably more gently than the first time. He sagged and fell to his side, and the rifle clattered to the gravel. "Fuck," he wheezed. "That your favorite trick?"

"_Air one to Control. She's got a hostage, one of our guys, looks like._"

She grabbed his arm and forced it behind him. "No. I'm a crotch-kicker, usually. Ernesto, what happened?"

"Nobody on our team, baby, I'd swear to it. Gord thinks we had a tail."

"Ah." She put a forearm to his throat. "I don't know how or when, but someday I'm gonna fix you dinner."

He reached back with a free hand. To the witnesses on the chopper, he might have been grappling with her as she choked him. But his fingers gently rubbed the back of her neck. "Anything but Mexican. Hate that shit."

"Noted. Wish I could kiss you." She pressed her forearm to his throat until he went limp, then propped him against the door. She quickly wedged the door with pieces of his equipment and moved, trying to keep the stair head between her and the helicopter. It circled the housing as well, trying to give its gunman a shot.

They maneuvered in this fashion for a few turns, then the pilot tired of the dance and brought his bird over the roof, still too high to risk a jump. She skittered around the air conditioner, and the chopper bounced over it, considerably closer to the top of the big structure.

_Aha._ She calculated as she wove between the two structures, trying to maneuver the helicopter into position. Filtering out the wind and chopper noises, she could hear more feet on their way up the stairs.

Taking cover on the side of the AC unit opposite the stair head, she heard the chopper bouncing over the structure to regain visual contact. She dropped into combat mode, sprinted back around to the stairwell, and leaped to its top. Turning like a cat in midair, she bounced off its roof to the AC unit, which brought her six meters above the roof. The helicopter was another three above and five beyond the structure, its individual rotor blades clearly visible to her accelerated senses. She ran and leaped, reaching for a skid.

The pilot was quick. He still had a fraction of a second to react, and he did. The chopper tilted away, showing its belly and taking the skid she'd been aiming for up out of her reach. But the maneuver also dropped the skid on the opposite side. She grabbed it, swung up like a stone in a sling, and entered feet-first through the other open door, planting her bare feet into the gunner's back and sending his rifle flying out his open door. A quick blow left him hanging limp in his webbing, and she was in the pilot's compartment a second later.

She snatched a pistol out of the copilot's hand and clouted him with the butt. The chopper banked as the pilot reached for his weapon. She stuck her newly-acquired Glock in his ear. "Pass it over." When he did, she tucked it under the seat. "Head west. Goose it."

"You can't-"

She stuck the Glock back in his ear. "I can."

"You'll die too."

She studied the aircraft's controls. A whisper of data from the Alpha file passed through her, and she recognized them: collective and cyclic, engine and shaft gauges, anti-torque pedals in place of the rudder controls. _Compared to a Comanche, this is a kid's scooter._ "Maybe so, but that's better than letting you take me back. I've had enough electric shocks and icewater baths for a lifetime, thank you." She looked down at her soiled clothing. "Oh, _bugs_." She reached behind her: one of her shoes was gone. "Just_ once_, can't you goons come after me when I'm not dressed for a date?"

The pilot's heart was racing. He pushed the cyclic forward slightly, and the bird nosed down and moved forward, gathering speed. "How did you… what did…"

A sudden suspicion dawned. "Wait. Are you guys cops? Real police officers?"

"You're under arrest," the copilot said blearily.

She pulled off his helmet and rubbed the knot above his ear – without letting go of the gun. "Oh, sweetie, how did you get mixed _up_ with these people?"

"What did you do to the man in back?"

"He'll be okay, but he should go to a hospital soon. Why are you doing IO's dirty work?"

"We're here to help the DHS apprehend a terrorist."

She scoffed. "You'd think they'd use a different lie once in a while, just for variety."

"Orders straight from the Commissioner's office. They showed us ID. It all checked out." The pilot stared through the windshield at the mountains ahead, backlit by the glow from the sinking sun.

"Officer, they could have shown you ID from NASA or the White House or the Department of Weights and Measures if they needed to. And they can twist arms a lot higher up than the Boulder Police Commissioner." She waved her gun at the windshield. "Find a parking lot with a few cars and set down."

"What are you going to do?"

She eyed the controls again. "Well, I first thought I'd steal your helicopter. But there's an awful lot of thingies on the dash. I've got a feeling it isn't as easy as it looks in the movies." Then she reached for the microphone on the dash and yanked its cord out of the panel, apparently oblivious to the wireless one the pilot was wearing. "There. Now you'll have to fly somewhere to report in while I steal a car. I'll have a little head start, anyway." _Let's hope they believe blondes are dumb._

Presently a small shopping complex appeared, fronted by acres of blacktop. "How's this?" The pilot said, sounding very accommodating.

"Perfect."

He set it down gently, far from the nearest car, which suited her fine. "Mind the blades."

"I was about to say the same thing. Hands off the controls, both of you. Unbuckle." They complied, their faces expressionless. She herded them to the side door. "Get him out too."

"You can't fly this thing."

"No. But I don't dare let you take off."

The copilot passed the unconscious gunner to the pilot on the blacktop. "You gonna shoot us?"

"Only as a last resort. On the ground, facedown." She bound their hands with their belts, then jumped back aboard. "I fibbed, sorry. You'll get it back in one piece, okay?"

-0-

The two men watched as the chopper powered up and sprang from the ground in a military-style "hot" takeoff and headed north to disappear among the mountains. As they worked on each other's bonds, the copilot remarked, "That is about the strangest terrorist I ever heard of."

They heard sirens, faint but growing louder. "Yeah. And I got a feeling that being cops was all that saved our lives, you know? What was that about electric shocks? And what was that name she said?"

"Think we better forget we heard all that." The belt came free just as the first police car came into the lot, followed by a black Suburban.

Tuesday April 4 2006  
San Diego  
International Operations Regional Office

"You can't blame me for being skeptical, Frank. Sleepers and moles can be very useful, but they have an unfortunate tendency to forget which side they're on." Ivana smiled down at him, which made him more uncomfortable than being strapped naked into a chair. "So we're going to go over it again. This time, with a little something to guarantee you're telling the truth."

He blinked up at her, struggling to focus. "We've already done the polygraph thing and the pentathol thing." _And the sleep-deprivation thing, and the physical discomfort thing._ He hadn't eaten since he'd been taken into custody, nor been given a sip of water since Monday afternoon.

"And when you were in the Expeditionary Teams, you were conditioned to beat those methods. This is something new."

The door to the tiny 'interview' room opened, and Gerry Ruche entered, pushing a cart with a microwave-sized device on it. He recognized it, and his heart sank further.

"What's wrong, Frank? You seem to have lost a little wind from your sails."

The machine was proscribed tech, a working prototype he'd reviewed, called a "truth detector" by its developers. It allowed an interrogator to ask questions requiring more than a "yes" or "no" response. In the hands of an expert, the machine was infallible. It was being touted as a tool for exhaustive interrogation that left the subject still capable of rational thought. He wet his lips. "I just hope you don't start asking me about my childhood. Or my girlfriends."

"I doubt your disaffection began that early. I'm not here to embarrass you unduly, Frank. I might kill you, but I won't pry into your love life unless the investigation leads us there." She turned to Ruche. "The fewer people present for this the better, but are you sure you can handle this?"

Ruche's face took a stubborn set. "This thing's not a polygraph. I've seen it in action. The readings are unequivocal. It doesn't take an expert to read them."

And hope flared in Colby's heart, for the first time since he'd been taken. He smothered it before the two turned to him.

Ruche's offhand attitude towards things he didn't understand might just save Colby's life.

_It doesn't take an expert to read an outright lie from the results. But it takes a semanticist to frame the questions and evaluate the quality of the answers. If I can concentrate, keep my head…_

Ruche placed an appliance on Colby's head resembling a compact headset, save that the "earpieces" rested on his temples. Other contacts were attached to the insides of his wrists and the base of his skull. The Security Advisor returned to the machine, flicked a switch, and studied the display in its face. "Ready."

She nodded. "No point in wasting time. Who are you working for?"

He reminded himself not to answer with simple negatives or affirmatives unless he was answering honestly; longer answers increased his chance of fooling an interrogator who didn't realize the machine didn't recognize half-truths as deceptive answers. "I'm working for IO, and only IO." _John Lynch doesn't pay me; I help him out of friendship. _"I'm loyal. I always have been." _To my friends and the __real__ International Operations, not to you._

She looked at Ruche. The man frowned at the display, then looked up, met her eyes, and nodded. She raised her eyebrows. "Well. Why have you been meeting with Jack then?"

He swallowed. "I thought keeping some line of communication open might prove useful." _To him. _"As long as he's keeping the kids under control, they're no danger. And meeting with him regularly gives me some idea of what they're up to." _Not that I'd ever tell you._

"Did you know they were living in La Jolla?"

"No." _San Diego area, but I never asked the address, and he didn't tell me._

"What were you doing with the little psycho?"

He carefully wove together plain truth and subterfuge. "She called the meet. I think she wanted to know what we'd discovered."

"And you were going to tell her?"

_Careful._ "I wanted to gain her confidence. I thought, if she trusted me, she'd tell me something." _And she did. She told me all kinds of things._

"And what did she tell you?"

Carefully, he said, "That she was prepared to destroy IO, and that there were others like her. I was hoping to get her to put me in touch, learn about them."

"What do they know?"

He thought back to their first meeting. "She has access to top security files. I'm not sure how big the breach is."

"You don't seem to have learned much."

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "It was only our second meeting. I think she was just about to tell me something confidential about the Twelve-fives, but then something tipped her off that we were busted. For a second, I thought she was going to break my neck, before she decided I hadn't set her up."

"Witnesses said you were dancing, and that you seemed to be getting along very well," she said, riposting the remark. "Are you sure her interest is professional?"

He wet his lips. "At our first meeting, she made a personal remark that made me think she might be interested."

"And you, Frank?"

He decided it was a good time to be caught in a lie, to give them confidence in their methods. "No. I was just after information."

Ruche raised his eyebrows. Ivana glanced at him, then back at Colby. "Oh, Frank. When will you learn? This woman is poison. What could you possibly see in the little bitch?"

He swallowed to wet his throat. "I was kind of… getting off on the idea of… dating your evil twin."

She stilled. "Ah. You noticed."

"Not right away. Not until I discovered she has your prints."

Ivana fastened a raptor's gaze on him. Ruche's forehead suddenly shone with sweat. "And how did you learn that?"

_So. She did tell him to suppress the information from the mall._ He took a breath. _So tired._ "She left her prints behind at the first meeting. I ran them." He flicked a glance at Ruche, and their eyes met. A measure of understanding passed between them.

"Gerry? Is this true?"

"Reads true, Ivana."

She turned back to Colby, and Ruche visibly relaxed. "Clever, Frank, very clever. So how do you set up your meetings? How do you communicate?"

"He calls me. His phone can't be traced, I don't know why." _Not that I've ever tried. It's what he tells me._

"How soon will he call again?"

"When we separated, I told her to call me in a couple of days."

She folded her arms. "If I let you take the call, how would you explain being free and able to talk?"

"I told her that I could talk my way out of it." At her raised eyebrow, he said, "What else could I say?"

"What else, indeed?" She placed her hands on his and leaned close. "I'm not entirely convinced, Frank, truth detector or no. Set up a meet. Deliver Lynch, and you'll go free. Deliver any of the others, and you can have your job back."

She was almost close enough to kiss. He caught a hint of her perfume again: not Anna's, but something similar. She glanced down into his lap, and the Mona Lisa smile returned. "Unbelievable."

She straightened and turned, standing between him and Ruche. "Get him cleaned up and fed, but keep him shackled and under guard.. When his phone rings, let him answer it – _after_ you put the detector back on him."

Ruche hustled out to get help. When the door closed behind him, she said, "Play me false, and you'll beg me to kill you. Seriously. But if this all turns out to be a misunderstanding…" She shrugged. "An apology would be insincere. There's too much at stake to jeopardize with an excess of trust. But I promise you you'll look back on this as the biggest break of your career." She moved towards the door, and paused, giving him a pinup-girl look over her shoulder. "And who knows, you might get a bonus that can't be put in an envelope."


End file.
